Unescapable Connections
by Mrs Bella Riddle
Summary: When Lord Voldemort attempts to uncover the mysteries behind his connection to Harry, the result is more catastrophic than either could imagine. However, both must learn to cope or face the consequences. For the Body Switch Challenge. No slash.
1. The Wall

This is for the Body Swap Challenge at HPFC and it is a little different for me. I'm aware this has been done many times before, but I hope I can add something else to these types of fics. It will focus on characterisation and a reasonable judgement about what would actual occur. It is meant to be believable and to capture what the characters would actually do.

Also, please note this is not meant to imply any slash ship between Harry/Voldemort. Reading through it some phrases or word choice could be construed that way, but that is not my intention and this will become clearer as it progressed. Assuming I write any ships into it they will all be canon (Likely Harry/Ginny and Voldemort/Bellatrix). Basically I very strongly see Voldemort and Harry as heterosexual men based on my interpretation of their characters.

Finally, as a timeline, this begins just at the start of the Silver and Opals Chapter in Half Blood Prince. Other than some small changes in what Voldemort has done and is focusing on, it is canon up to that point.

Enjoy

* * *

It had been a disaster. For a year, he had carefully constructed every aspect of the plan, yet it had fallen to pieces: Prophecy destroyed, eleven Death Eaters imprisoned and his presence had even been revealed to the public. Bellatrix had suggested at least Sirius Black had been killed.

He had Crucioed her for that remark.

Like so many other things, he attempted to turn the situation into an advantage: Strikes were sent out, thorns in his side were removed and terror finally settled in.

Perhaps if that was all he had to deal with, it may have been enough, but there was more.

When he had tried to possess Potter, something had gone wrong. He had used that form of magic hundreds of times in the past, though nothing like that had ever. When he had struggled to control the boy's body, pain had erupted through him.

It had bothered him. There was a prophecy about the boy's power he could never hear, his wand somehow did not work against Potter and now he could not possess him without experiencing severe pain. Ollivander had been captured a few months ago, but there was more to this than their wands.

He would have to find out.

The connection was the first start. Since the events at the Ministry, he had been carefully using Occluemency to block any possibility that the boy could see his thoughts. However, if he wanted to know the truth, he would need to open the connection again. It was magic that appeared to have no precedence in history, but, with his power and skill, he could uncover the truth.

After the fall of the Ministry, he had moved into Malfoy Manor as it provided him with greater security than the Riddle House and he could monitor the Malfoys. Of course, he had taken the Master Bedroom for himself and that was where he was now.

It was well past midnight and the room was almost in complete darkness. The thick midnight blue curtains were sealed shut, the candles were extinguished and the only light was from the flickering hearth. In the midst of it all, he sat atop the elaborate spiral design of the bed covers with his legs crossed neatly beneath him, black robe flowing around him as his yew wand twirling between his spindly fingers.

His scarlet eyes were closed, just as they had been all night as he waited. The easiest way to exploit the connection was when Potter was asleep, so, all he had to do was to wait.

After working at the connection for several weeks, it was strong and vibrant. He suspected Potter might have noticed something was amiss, though it hardly mattered. Now he was past the point of no return he could finally crack into Potter's mind. He felt the opening around the connection widen slightly in a reflex from the relaxed state produced from Potter sleeping.

With a flick of his wand and a quiet whisper, Voldemort focused on his spirit. It was the same as when he possessed people and animals. It was a strange sensation of something being unstuck from his body, but it was what he desired. Slowly and carefully, he focused on that connection and moved straight for the metaphoric hole that linked two enemies.

It was easy to slip in.

It was harder to escape as darkness swallowed him whole.

* * *

The first few weeks of Harry's sixth year had been long and arduous. Now a NEWT student, it felt like every class was harder and, if he did not have the Half Blood Prince's potion book to rely on, he was sure he would be failing potions. Non verbal charms were a must and his mastery of such magic was extremely limited. Added on top of that his captaincy of the Quidditch Team, his curiosity about where Malfoy and Dumbledore were going and the war battling on outside Hogwarts, Harry needed a good night's sleep.

The warmth of the covers of his four poster bed hugged him tightly that night as he drifted off and dreams claimed him.

They were not normal.

Visions of a darkened room, scarlet eyes and a pale wand engulfed him. It was like dreams when he was in Voldemort's mind, but he had thought he had stopped having them and this time there was no evidence Voldemort was even here. The only thing noticeable was the stifling darkness.

His heart was racing and he struggled and squirmed. Despite the fact he could not see anything, he had the lingering feeling that there was something there.

"Help!" he shouted loudly. "Who is there?"

There was no answer except for his voice echoing around the darkness.

Still in his stripped pyjamas, he longed for his wand, but there was nothing in his hand and all he could do was wait.

He was never one to do that.

Making up his mind, he ran. The darkness was everywhere, yet, as his legs rocketed underneath him, he at least felt like he was doing something rather than staying still like a sitting duck.

He only made it a few metres before he crashed into something. Crying in pain, he clutched his nose that should have been broken with the impact, but, when his hands crept up to his face, it seemed fine.

Stepping back, hesitantly he raised his hand to the spot where he had collided with something. It was like a wall of ice. It was cold and chilly and numbed his fingers. Still he did not draw away. It was at least something in a place that seemingly had nothing. Frantically he moved his hands up and down the invisible wall. While he walked he continuously swept his hands over the surface, the same sensation continued and nothing appeared.

After what felt like an hour of Harry waiting for something, as he brushed his finger over a certain area the faintest flicker of white appeared. A gasp escaped him and, automatically, he moved his hand up to the light. As soon as he did, more light emitted. Frantic and feverish, Harry rubbed at the colour.

The more he did, the more materialised.

What he had assumed to be a white colour seemed to be very pale skin. It did not stop him. A hand became visible. It was larger than his, but the fingers were slimmer. If he was not so desperate, he might have recognised them, but he did not.

He moved from the hand to the right where an arm should be and, just as he did, nothing but darkness appeared. He almost screamed in frustration. He might have, if his hand that rubbed well above the revealed hand exposed another piece of skin.

Focusing on that, he wiped furiously to the extent that he did not notice that more and more patches were being revealed where he was not staring, but from where he was pressed against the wall.

With a hard swipe of his hand, the last of the blackness blocking the face disappeared.

He screamed.

Blood red slitted eyes, a nose like a snake and deathly pale skin, Harry could not help but flinch away to the extent that he almost toppled over. He had faced Voldemort before but somehow the surprise had taken him back more than anything else.

Staring horror struck at the face, the desire to have his wand had never been stronger than when Voldemort smirked and pointed his wand directly at Harry.

* * *

Voldemort had known the process was unpredictable. It was unknown what opening the connection would do. However, he was confident he could deal with whatever was put before him.

The darkness meant nothing. The fear of the unknown had settled slightly, but he fought it off. The wall was what truly stopped him.

While he had walked he had fired curses in all directions. One angled in front of him connected with something. He fired more and more, but they all stopped as if they faced an impenetrable shield. Cautiously, Voldemort approached and touched the tip of his yew wand to the wall.

Nothing happened.

Though he loathed the idea, slowly he placed the tip of one spidery finger to the wall.

It almost burned. It was like there was a fire place behind it. He flinched and fired curses at the wall. For well over half an hour, he tried the might of all he knew, though nothing worked, so he resorted to the only thing that had worked.

Placing his hand flat against the wall, now that he had become accustomed the feeling, it was not as much of a burning sensation, though it was certainly not comfortable. Unsure, he moved his hand around trying to find something; all the while his yew wand was clutched in his left hand waiting for anything that would emerge.

Something did. It was a small flash of flesh. He rubbed it and slowly a hand appeared.

He knew what it was straight away.

Calmly and confidently, he worked away until the window was complete and he could see the boy.

He almost laughed as Potter leapt back in shock.

Smirking with a raised wand, he aimed at the revealed face of Potter. This had to be how he could get past the wall and into Potter's mind.

In a flash of indigo, a blasting spell escaped his wand. With a loud crash it connected and the wall crumpled.

Darkness settled over him again.


	2. Unpleasant Conclusions

Here we go. Chapter two when the swap begins!

Enjoy

* * *

Harry slept appalling that night. His rest was fitful and somehow the nightmare kept replaying over and over again, so when his body clock told him it was time to wake he had no desire to do so. Cursing the idea of Hogsmeade trip, he settled further into the cover concluding sleep was more appealing.

Twisting in his sleep, he wondered where his blanket had gone as, apart from what he wore, there was nothing covering him. Sighing in frustration, he moved his hand to his side but all he felt was something silky. In his mind that was still filled with sleep, he recognised that his bed did not have any silk blankets or quilts; it was all cotton and warm wool.

It was a little unsure, but sleep still seemed more appealing than this mystery. Turning on his side, he twitched his foot. It should have contacted with some sheets or the base of his bed, instead it was contained by a shoe. Why would he wear shoes to bed? He was sure he had changed before he had fallen asleep.

Finally the curiosity was too much. He opened his eyes.

The room was almost in complete darkness. Everything in shadows and, from what he could see, it was not Gryffindor Tower. There was no trace of scarlet and the bed he slept on was larger and more luxurious than anything he had ever seen before.

Pushing himself up, he turned from right to left frantically. The embers of a hearth that was losing light flowed before him, allowing him to vaguely make out thick dark curtains and heavy ornate furniture in a spacious room.

He had never been here before.

Panic set in.

If he had not gone through so many events in his life, he might have thought it was a dream, but, living under a threatening cloud, he could never think that way. His eyes moved from the black robes that covered him, something that he was sure he did not own, until they spotted the wand that was only a few inches from his hand. It was paler than his own, longer and strangely thin. While it was weirdly familiar, he knew was not his own, but, in this situation, he was grateful to have any weapon.

Clutching it tightly, he flicked the wand, opening the curtains to his left. Slowly they slid open revealing the room.

He was right that it was luxurious and somewhere he had never been. It was all in dark blues, creams with dark wooden antique pieces. Sliding his legs from the bed to the floor, he tried to stand and almost toppled over. His limbs felt all wrong. They were all too long and thin. It was like someone had cursed or drugged him with a potion.

His view that he had been kidnapped increased as Harry shakily found his feet by holding onto the ornate but empty set of drawers beside the bed. Cautiously, he moved one foot in front of another and, now with a better understanding, he was able to walk fine though, admittedly without much grace. As he moved, he surveyed the room, targeting the two doors in front of him; one on the right and one a little to the left closer to a massive wardrobe and the window.

He chose that one. Entering, he expected to find something truly, shocking

He only found a bathroom.

It was all white and black marble. It covered the walls and floors and snaked to the back of the shower covered by a glass shower screen to the bath on the other side. It was circular and large enough to fit five people if someone tried. It caught his attention. If it did not, he might have left rather than step a little further in an idly glance at the mirror.

When he did, he screamed.

Lord Voldemort was looking back at him.

He spun around with the wand he had found, but all he saw was an empty bathroom. Warily, he turned back around.

Voldemort remained.

Harry pointed the wand at the image of Voldemort in the mirror.

Voldemort did the same.

Harry stepped away.

Voldemort did the same.

A truly horrific idea slithered into his mind. _No_, he thought, _that was impossible_. Still, when he raised his left hand, so did the mirror image. His hand was almost shaky as he touched the face.

So did the reflection.

His face had never felt like this before; it was smooth like marble. No glasses met his finger and the nose he brushed over was flat. Moving upwards, he swept up over his forehead and, instead of black messy hair, his hand moved upwards over a bald scalp.

Stepping back, Harry sunk slowly into the toilet seat, his breath heavy and red eyes wide.

What had happened? He could not believe it, but he had to.

He was Voldemort.

* * *

The blanket was itching and scratching against his skin as he turned a little in his sleep. Unlike Harry, he was not the type to laze into a lull of sleep. He knew something was wrong from the outset. He could feel pyjamas where there should have been robes and, when he twisted in his sleep, the bed was too small.

Darting up, he sat bolt upright eyes wide. Thick scarlet curtains covered his bed which was one he was sure he had never been before. Wrenching them back violently, his eyes tried to stare around the room. It seemed to be circular with a mass of red, but it was all blurry and hard to distinguish. Frustrated, his hands felt around frantically before they touched a bedside table. He was relieved when one hand circled around the handle of a wand and the other what felt like glasses.

It was enough to know where he was.

Assuming it was required, he stuffed the glasses on his face and looked around. The room was stone and circular, but covered in masses of scarlet and gold tapestries and complete with four other beds, each with the hangings closed or revealing a body under covers.

Quickly, he pulled the curtains around him, before he flicked the wand. A mirror appeared and straight away he looked into it to confirm his suspicions: Potter. Hidden behind spectacles, emerald green eyes glowed in frustration at they stared at the glass. Lips stitched in anger, he was very tempted to hurl the transfigured mirror across the room.

It took all his temptations to restrain himself.

Something had gone wrong. He was meant to search Potter's memories not to possess him, though if he possessed him, shouldn't Potter be in this head too.

Calmly his breathing, Voldemort closed his eyes and concentrated on searching the mind. All he found was his own thoughts and memories. Potter had to be there. If he was not there was no other place he could be. He was likely lying dormant. He would just have to wait.

Throwing the covers off himself, he wrinkled his nose at the simple striped pyjamas that coated Potter's body. What could he do? He could reveal his presence, possibly causing a needless challenge to contend with or he could ride it out and pretend to be Potter. Besides, he could learn something.

Resigning himself to the inevitable, he opened the hangings again and stepped out of the bed.

Standing, he was a little struck by how much smaller the room looked. Potter was only sixteen and Voldemort was sure he had not been that short at that age. He supposed he always had been tall, but thought of such an average height was added to the list of notes that would infuriate him.

His eyes swept the dormitory, but, at least while it was different, some key design elements were the same from his days in the Slytherin Dormitories: There was some kind of heater in the middle and each bed had a bedside table and a trunk at the bottom.

It was where he moved, eager to get out of these pyjamas. Thankful it was not locked so he did not have to perform a complex curse to unlock it which would have caused some peculiar questions to materialise. Sliding it open, it was a mess: Books were thrown inside as well as underwear, creased robes and used and unused parchment. How could one boy be so filthy? With disgust, he slid out a school robe that seemed to be clean between two fingers and stood up. His eyes brushed against the underwear and immediately he decided against it. This situation would be unpleasant enough. It would be substantially better to just throw the robe over his head and only have to stare at was Potter's scrawny chest.

Set on that goal, he walked towards the bathroom.

The similarities to Slytherin accommodations continued. It was substantially more modern, but its design was the same. Slipping into a toilet cubicle, he ignored the toilet and flicked his wand. So as to avoid touching Potter, he vanishing the pyjamas and, with another charm, he was dressed. He paid no attention to the toilet. It was one another thing he wanted to evade.

The sink was the next stop. There were five baskets some with their contents neatly stacked while others were spread over the counter. One was Potter's but which? He looked at each in turn, but soon gave up. It would be an impossible job to tell. Hopefully Potter had at least brushed his teeth last night. He only ran his hands through Potter's hair, but that was one thing that proved to be simple for he was sure Potter's hair was always messy.

Staring at the mirror, he tilted his head to the side, looking carefully. Harry Potter stared back at him, his lips tense and eyes glaring. He tried to relax his face like how he had done when he was younger. It partially worked, but still something seemed off. Oh well, Potter was a teenager. Odd moods were natural.

Ready to face the day, he stepped out of the bathroom.

His preparation fell to piece in one sentence.

"Why are you up so early, Harry?" One of the boys asked, half asleep from where his freckled head pocked out from the side of the hangings. With his red hair Voldemort was at least confident he could identify him as Potter's Weasley friend.

"I just woke up," Voldemort replied in Potter's voice, keeping his tone level and polite.

From the perplexed look on the other boy's face, something was not right. "Did you forget it was Hogsmeade today? Why are you wearing your uniform?"

Instinctively Voldemort cursed his lack of knowledge. A look of irritation crossed his face before he managed to mask it. "Oh, of course." He tried to smile as he approached the messy trunk again and withdrew a plain set of robes. "I forgot."

Before he could get questioned, he set off to the bathroom again and cursed this situation. He would need to be careful to hide away his lack of knowledge something that had never been a problem before.


End file.
